Luna Hell Fire
by Her Majesty of Pluto
Summary: The Lunastra seemed to know intrinsically that every majestic Teostra was born of a Lunastra. Was all life not a battle? The only way to live, was to fight. Realising this, the princess planted the tip of her sword into the floor and picked herself up."


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Monster Hunter; only adore the game to bits.

**Author's Message:** I started writing this fic some time ago, but never got round to finishing it until only recently. What got me writing this is how slight the Lunastra is in the game. Among the circle of hunters I know here, none of them thinks the Lunastra is formidable. She might have been in another version of Monster Hunter, but not so much in MHP2ndG or MHU. So, one day I randomly thought, "If I am to cross a princess and an empress, what kind of story would that be in the Monster Hunter context?" And here it is: the story.

This is my first Monster Hunter fic. So I hope someone finds it a nice read. :)

And yes, the name "Luna Hell Fire" is the name you can get after you've hunted 75 Rathians (Luna) and 15 Lunastras (Hell Fire), which is my chosen title for my guild card.

**Warnings:** A long one-shot. And...um, I shall not confess that it is an easy read. But, I hope some of you will like it. :D

* * *

**Luna Hell Fire**

She didn't know when it was that the idea of the beautiful princess locked away in the tallest room at the top of a tower guarded by a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon became so fixed in everyone's imagination that it became the very embodiment of everything clichéd.

She certainly have never read anything like that, only heard people talk about it in jest, narrate it and see them roll their eyes at it. Yet, her papa resorted to it as their last desperate attempt to resolve the problem that had been plaguing their neat little household. And he'd spent a great deal of money to have it done just right. She supposed there was a cogent manual that her father consulted regarding this matter, which contained within it all the lucid details of every necessary procedure. She could only suppose for she was a princess, expected to know nothing more than to be beautiful, and even that she had problems with.

One thing she did know for certain was that she was the only princess in a long line of princesses who could not be wedded off. Parties had been organised and visits made to people she didn't even know. All to no avail. Her mamma tried donning her in silks, tried every look, from the virgin to the harlot, which didn't work very well for all the fidgeting caused the princess' veils to go askew and she had this silly habit of throwing a shawl over all the tantalizing heave of her bosoms.

Her mamma had teetered on the brink of motherly insanity when she cut her long hair to merely an inch below her chin in her room. The king was compelled to impose a ban on scissors within a meter of her and the constant presence of burly she-hulks armed with gunlances ensured that this ban was not transgressed upon.

One would expect the princess to be distressed, but she never gave a thought as to why she was not attractive to men. She was not ugly. She once heard the servants talking about her outside her door. They must have thought she was asleep because she could hear them quite plainly from where she lay on the too-spacious, too-soft bed. They called her a "beautiful thing" and then went on to say something about the "sad state of her mind".

Why indeed would her state of mind be sad, she did wonder. She was not sad. In fact, there were times when she was inscrutably happy; times when she ran across grass fields, dodging irritating velocipreys and ignoring the racket of their calls, in search of the Rathalos; times when the snow stung the exposed parts of her face as she squinted through the frigid haze to make out the shape of the Kushala Daora coming at her in all its rusted glory; or even when she was roasting meat upon a fire, watching the steam curl up into the air to entice her, to make her forget the very meat so that it would burn…

These times, out in open land, be it through tall grass, in bug-infested jungle, or suffering the searing heat of the desert, she was happy. There were no walls to move in and choke her, no worries as to her decorum or proper table manners, no endless numbers of rules of etiquette to remember by heart. She could have her hair matted in sweat and blood, and her hands dirty from scooping dung piles to use as fertilizer for her private little herb garden she had on her balcony.

The sitting-downs she had to be present at were tiresome for sure, but a lot of these palaces or noble houses were situated in places with guild gathering halls. When she didn't have to sit down with anybody, she would go to these halls and sign herself a contract for a hunt. Her parents knew nothing of these hunting trips, and if the servants were aware of it, they were kind enough not to mention it. As such, she was able to amass quite a collection of materials and armour sets for herself which she brought back with her and carefully stored in a large box that she crammed under her bed.

The figure of the princess, whom she was by accident of birth, was so shrouded in myth that no one in these guild halls knew who she was. There _were _men who came too close, tried to touch bared skin where ever they showed through her armour, and those who were simply too raucous with their words and leering. But this was not the aristocratic space anymore, so the sudden glint of her sword near the "treasure" they held between their legs was all it took to shut them up and keep them back.

The life of a hunter was so much simpler than that of a princess.

She didn't know how she was to act around men in the aristocratic circles. She could get along fine with those infrequent few who went with her when she needed help hunting something big. When it came to princes, counts and young kings, she found she could barely even smile at them. They would dance with her, trying their best to ignore the tense grip of her hand and the clumsy movements of her unyielding feet and body.

Every single one of her dance partners would compliment on her eyes which were a strange luminescent grey, set so contrastingly against coffee-brown skin. When complimented as such, she simply looked back up at them as if suddenly called and muttered, "Thank you" as she hoped for the dance to be over.

The men would talk about her later among their peers and families: about how her eyes, despite being beautiful, were so cold, how they—these men—couldn't melt or fall into them, how those eyes seemed to repel them so vehemently. When they tried talking to her, she didn't seem the least bit interested. She didn't laugh like the other ladies would when they told a joke. In fact, sometimes her eyes would twitch as if these jokes were something unpleasant and she was trying not to let it show with a great deal of struggle.

Often times though, they felt she simply was not there. What they really meant was that they didn't know what to make of her. At every party, her eyes constantly wandered to any open window she was standing close to and then she would stare.

They would understand if there had been scenery to speak of, but if there was only an ebony outline of a distant forest or hill against a starless backdrop of night? What could she possibly be looking at then? At so lonely, so eerie a scene? Was that scene so much more interesting than the men she was lucky to have in her company? Her gaze carried with it no admiration, no contemplation, and there was no way to call her back.

Indeed, there was no way to call her back. Her mind had wandered off to glories won upon the wings of a silver dragon, a new suit of armour that she was hoping to complete and what would it look like on her…

More than that, while she stared, while she mentally let herself go from these tiresome parties and the even more tiresome company of men she had no interest in, she relived the exhilaration of previous hunts and, sometimes, when the fight proved to be an immense challenge,—two lumbering Black Gravioses at the volcano or the impossible White goliath with its fin cutting through hard ice like it was water—the swoon of ecstasy after a victory, when her legs were too shaky for her to stand on, and it was all she could do to sit on the ground and gaze at the sky.

These she could not share with anybody, for in her circle of noblemen and ladies, she was alone.

So after too long, they took her to the tower.

* * *

The structure was ancient and derelict, broken and cracked in so many places, and so tall that the top of it disappeared into the clouds. Her mamma looked up at it, frightened.

"Is it safe?" she asked, addressing the question to no one in particular.

The minister who had found the place assured her that it was the best. Apparently dragons were often seen living there, or at least staying there for a while on their migratory route to another place of rule. Many a worthy men have taken up the challenge of climbing up its height to defeat whatever foe roosts above. He was sure that with a damsel to go along with the usual reward of money and materials, no man could resist rising up to the challenge.

At first her parents were apprehensive about the idea of hunters and not noblemen finding their daughter and marrying her. There was also the danger of debauchery inflicted upon their poor, defenseless daughter (for they didn't know her any better) by some brute of a man and of course, there was the more important question of what if he didn't want to marry her?

The minister had it all covered. The guild hall offering the quest would see to it that only a male hunter of a certain marital status, bearing and wealth could sign up. Of course, all the arrangement with the guild requires a lot of monetary persuasion, which the king readily provided. As for the question of whether the hunter would want to marry their daughter, the minister was sure that after a difficult hunt, the manly pride in every male hunter would not allow him to turn down the prize of such an exquisite young lady…of such favourable birth. (For who could turn down the possibility of inheriting a kingdom?) If push comes to shove, the hunter would be made liable to honour the marriage through means of the fine print on the contract he would inevitably have to sign (and most likely not read carefully).

And so in such a manner, it was all settled. The princess would be locked away in a chamber up in the tower where she would await the arrival of her saviour in his magnificent armour.

The whole party climbed up in a balloon, meeting no resistance, not even from the remobras, and in no time, the princess was deposited in a specially built chamber, secure against every gale and death flame that may come her way. She could come out of it and explore if she wanted to but it was better, of course, if she stayed where she was—in the chamber. She was given leave to keep her loyal felyne companion, whom they thought was only her pet rather than her ally on hunts, with her. She was given a whole month's supply of food; gourmet biscuits, sweet meats, candies, preserves, wine, sherry and cordials; before she was left well alone. The chamber had its own washroom with a state of the art water closet (with pumps!) and a dressing area with a spacious, built-in wardrobe. She was for want of nothing.

Except once the party had left and she was sure of being alone, the princess stripped herself off of all her fineries and plopped carelessly on the silken covers of her bed in nothing but her undergarments, the ones she had bought once when she was in a village called Kotoko. She spread her arms out and, for a moment, was somewhat surprised that no one came running in to chide her about it. There was only a low hum, perhaps the wind, rushing over the curved walls of her protected chamber. The princess felt that, even with the walls, this was a place where she could be happy. She listened to the other sound, the one of Dasha, her felyne companion, scratching her flank and then the rhythmic purring that went with her breathing as she slept curled up in her basket. Dasha's lazy sleep was contagious for the princess found the ceiling, at which she was staring, blur, before it reduced to a slit, then darkness.

Then amongst the rare peace, the princess fell asleep.

* * *

For a while, nothing came to the tower. There were the remobras, whose presence did not bother the princess, even if it did the people who stood vigil over the tower happenings. They watched from the balloon high up in the sky but after a while, it did not seem like there was ever going to be any sort of activity at the tower. The king and queen were in despair. Was their daughter never to meet her partner? Never to marry? There had never been a spinster in the royal family before and they were beginning to worry that it was all going to start from them. What would they say to their relatives?

Still, hope proved to possess a vice grip over those who harboured it. They kept the princess in the tower, renewing her supply of toiletries, food and clothes when the need called for it.

Then something did come. The arrival was at first marked by the leaving of the remobras. The princess watched them fly in dark flocks away from the tower and wondered about it. She felt excited too, because she knew that creatures tended to flee an area or go into hiding whenever an elder dragon came into the territory. Her parents and the ministers hoped for a Fatalis, preferably the White one, but really any Fatalis would do. It was the ultimate dragon, one which would attract the sort of hunter that they would like their daughter to marry.

It came. The body of a manticore, only without the sting; thick mane sweeping away from a majestically fierce, feline face; fangs protruding upwards from the lower jaw; a single horn like a half moon; different shades of blue all in one. That which arrived was no Fatalis.

It was the Lunastra.

The princess watched it everyday. She was a beautiful creature and the princess could not help but be enthralled. In her unimpressive hunting career, the princess had never seen a Lunastra before. She had heard of her, encountered people who have fought her and won, or lost. She was apparently not as powerful as her mate, the Teostra, but the princess couldn't care less for the male counterpart. Right before her was a creature that cleaned herself with her pink tongue any time the fancy struck her, that curled herself into a ball to slumber where ever she pleased, that marched with her nose tilted to the air as if searching for something above heads in a crowd, her chest puffed out without the restraint of tight corsets. The Lunastra tread her paws on everything around the top of the tower as if she owned it…and it was easy to believe that she did.

Yes, she _did_ own it.

How does a princess become an empress? One of the ways was for one to usurp the other. Of course, the princess must usurp the empress. It would not do the other way round.

The princess knew that the Lunastra was not going to remain at the tower forever and she must act fast. She was inexperienced in hunting an elder dragon like the Lunastra. She could only hope that her experience with others like the Chameleos and the Kushala would somehow help her in this self-drawn quest.

Dasha darted around the chamber, bringing her mistress her armour pieces—the helm, the plate, the vambraces, the tasset and the leggings—the Kushala one, which made the princess, after resolutely clicking everything into place, look like a Roman Goddess. After weeks and weeks of inaction, Dasha, too, was excited for the battle. After she got her mistress ready, she would sharpen her weapon and polish her acorn armour with a little bit of felyne spit. It would not do for the loyal companion of a member of royalty to appear shoddy. It would not do at all.

* * *

Back in the guild hall, many a young men were excited. The notice had been put out that a princess was kept a prisoner atop an ancient tower, the sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered by a fearsome elder dragon, their realisation of an Andromeda. The reward was generous money-wise, but the extra that came with it made it all the more enticing—the princess' hand in marriage and of course, the customary inheritance of the kingdom. Who could turn down such a prize?

However, the requirements to sign up for the hunt were not a paltry affair. Only a well-to-do hunter, of the highest rank could sign himself up for it (and of course, only male hunters need apply). Those who fancied himself worthy enough rushed back to ready themselves, while the rest could only stare morosely at the gilded-edged notice and wish they had worked a little harder or came into the profession a little sooner.

Later, the clamour to be the first to sign up was tremendous. Chaos was about to ensue but one hunter managed to get to the guild maiden first and put his name into the book. Before long, the hunter, in his impressive lizard-suit of White Fatalis armour and his longsword strapped to his back, stepped out of the hall via the quest exit, as others watched.

* * *

The princess' first encounter with the Lunastra ended in defeat. Every swipe of the paw seemed to get her and every slash of her sky-blue longsword, her little guardian for many a fight, bounced right back, causing her to teeter on her feet, opening up an opportune moment for the Lunastra to strike out at her attacker. Dasha did not prove to be the most helpful felyne companion one could have, unaccustomed as her mistress was with regards to the monster and with her penchant for going into headlong assault without strategy nor caution.

The princess was glad for the full-body protection of the armour she wore, one she was proud to have made from the materials she got from numerous Kushala hunts. Even so, protected as she was from the searing heat of the fire surrounding the Lunastra's body, she could not prevail upon the Empress to yield and in time, just as she was down on one knee from sheer pain, trembling fingers scrambling for a bottle she kept at her belt, the mass of blue and flames, in all her queenly glory, came down upon her in a charge she could not evade.

The princess saw black.

And came to on her back, nearly sunk into the softness that was her mattress, the fight almost a bad dream, if it wasn't for the bruises she later found she sported. Dasha had collapsed on the floor of the room, exhausted from the fight and from having dragged her mistress' body from the battlefield with the help of some other felynes she managed to alert. The princess allowed herself a compassionate glance at her felyne companion before turning her gaze back up to the ceiling.

She was sore, more from the battle than the defeat. It was easy not to feel like a failure when there weren't any other hunters to measure up against but it riled her. She found that she absolutely must win…no matter what.

Dasha had removed the helmet after she'd maneuvered her mistress onto the bed, so it was all that the princess needed to do to loosen the clasps that held her vambraces and plate in place. Free of her armour, she started to mentally run through the previous battle, assessing herself and trying to get at where she might have gone wrong. She was growing weary and the monotony of the grey ceiling started to lull her into a slumber. Just when her eyes grew heavy, she saw herself bringing down the blade of her sword onto the Lunastra's head…and how the attack…how strange, did not bounce back.

* * *

When a prince, a nobleman, or a hunter trekked up a tower with the intent of rescuing a princess, it was a common thing to do to think about who might be waiting at the top. He admitted it, in the secret depths of his being, that he had taken up the quest on the spur of the moment. With the crowd that this was pulling, with the promise in the gilded-edged notice and the seal of the royal family, it was like a quest, like any other quest where there was a challenge posed. Only this time, you did not just carve out your beasts and return for your reward money, you take a princess home and was bequeathed a kingdom. It was a one in a lifetime event, one in a long lifetime quest, and he, this hunter, was not getting younger everyday.

He wondered if she was going to be in a precarious spot, because that would make the hunt at least a little more challenging (since it was, he told himself, a Lunastra after all). Maybe she would be chained to a rock and he wondered then, what kind of parents would do that to their own daughter. Perhaps their kingdom was threatened and a higher being had demanded a sacrifice, only that would not make much sense since the royal house had requested for the princess' rescue. Maybe, the girl had been silly enough to wander too far from home and got kidnapped by a superstitious, moon-worshipping tribe, the members of whom decided to make a sacrifice out of her.

That had to be it. A silly princess was common enough. Many of them got lost in woods anyway; some of them were even lost forever.

The hunter paused and consulted his map. He fought battles at towers before, but this tower was new to him and irrepressibly tall. He squinted up at it through his visor and found himself hoping that the princess be beautiful because all that climbing was bound to test every strain of his stamina and strength. He rolled up the map and replaced it in his leather satchel. He turned around and let out a whistle, hearing which a felyne clad in acorn armour with a miniature scythe made out of a crab's claw looked up. Seeing that he had the felyne's attention, the hunter jerked his head towards the waiting entrance before turning to run through it himself, the felyne trotting eagerly after him.

* * *

The Lunastra had been about the sanitary business of licking herself when the princess stepped onto the incidental arena for another round with the Empress. Getting wind of the princess' intrusion, the Lunastra lifted her head, an animal alerted, her paw still half frizzled from the incomplete lick poised in the air between her lower jaw and the dusty floor. As the princess was behind her, she scanned the space before her and saw no one at first.

The princess and Dasha approached; the princess's body bent low, stepping toes first before silently putting down a foot and the felyne crawled forward, inch by inch, behind her mistress. Once close enough, the princess reached for the hilt of her sword.

The Lunastra finished licking her paw but just before the princess could attack, spun round and swiped. The princess, graced (with all due ironies) by the attack, tumbled backwards, her body, still recovering from the previous battle, racking with pain. Dasha mewled and tried her best to keep her ground, only to be trampled asunder by a charge. The princess was only just picking herself up when a roar let out close to her had her cupping the part of her helm which covered her ears, to not much avail for the sound practically shook her, promising her a headache. When the Lunastra dropped from her rearing, the gust of wind that was kicked up it sent the princess, who had just barely straightened up, falling to the floor.

The wind raised a dust cloud through which the princess could only just make out the Lunastra's distinct colour and proud poise. After that barrage of attacks, happening too fast in quick succession, the princess had started to think that perhaps the battle was not hers to take that day. However, staring through a veil of pain and the murky cloud of dust, the princess saw how the Empress' poise did not falter, not once. Not as strong as the Teostra she might be, and, in some circles of pompous hunters, not as respected, the Lunastra seemed to know that in the darkness of the jungle or the ancient forest everyone yearned for the comforting glow of the moonlight; seemed to know, intrinsically, that every Teostra was born of a Lunastra.

The Lunastra felt her importance and if she had sleeves, would wear her sentiments upon them. The dust started to clear, and the princess saw the Lunastra clearly for the first time: she was not merely a challenge, not merely the figure one had to take out in order to take ownership of the tower or attain hunter ranks. For the princess, the Lunastra was the embodiment of everything she herself was not.

Everyday prior to this imprisonment in the tower, the princess had not spoken out against the things her parents were making her go through, preferring instead to withdraw into the shell that was her silence. She had not thought of consequences or what was to come if a prince did climb all the way up there, did slay the Lunastra, did bring her back to her parents. The princess thought it was enough to merely live her life the way it was, to let others dictate what and how she must be in the face of the public.

Was all life not a battle? The only way to win was to stand up just as tall as the Lunastra, to embrace the little bit of importance you have and wear it, yes, upon the shoulder guards of your armour. The princess could be free if she so chooses.

She planted the tip of her sword into the floor and using it for support, picked herself up, first on a knee, and then finally on her two feet. Dasha was spinning, pivoted on a foot, and beside her stood the Lunastra that strangely was not attacking. There the Empress stood, light-footed and surrounded in a swirling mass of flames. She stood with her chest out, her chin tilted up, staring down at the princess from down the length of her muzzle. Those golden eyes challenged the princess to take her best shot, to take control of this tower the way the Lunastra, in making it her own domain, had.

The princess readied her sword and smirked up at the Empress. She thought she saw the Empress nod.

* * *

The hunter looked back at his felyne companion and saw how it was slouching forward as it tried its best to keep up with him. He glanced upward at the yawning abyss of the sky visible through a broken section of the tower. They were near the top, he could just feel it, but he did not want to risk his companion being too tired for the fight. Having a cat groggily throwing bombs in random directions did not sit well on the palette of a hunter who liked his hunts to go smoothly and without a glitch. Even if, the hunter mused, the dragon was _only _a Lunastra.

And because the dragon was _only _a Lunastra, the hunter thought further, stopping his ascend, feeling his felyne companion bump into his right calf, it should not take too much time to take her out. Ten minutes? Fifteen minutes maximum? The hunter chuckled at the thought. She was almost not worth the price the King and Queen were offering.

He turned to his companion and told it that they could both take a rest. The felyne looked up at him, cerulean eyes questioning, but the hunter setting his greatsword and satchel down, before sitting himself on the flat floor of what must have once been a room in the tower, answered all that the felyne might ask.

* * *

The princess discovered that the only way to stagger a Lunastra and effectively bring her down for a barrage of advantaged attacks was to land a shot right on the head, precisely, if possible, in the center of the forehead, marked by the cleft in the horn. The first time the princess tried this she missed and had to try it a second time. It was on the third shot that the Lunastra fell in a dazed, struggling heap onto the floor. A few times this happened and each time, the princess made sure to bring down a series of attacks onto the Lunastra's head, until she saw the Lunastra's horn, shatter and scatter to the ground.

For a moment, the princess stood rooted, horrified at what she had done, but the Lunastra it seemed saw no cause for backing down even as her crown lay in pieces at her feet. She joggled her head and charged at the princess jaws agape, with more spring in her steps.

The princess would have taken the full force of the charge, if Dasha had not seen her mistress in such a state and thrown the small bomb she had meant for the Lunastra at the petrified huntress' feet. It blew the princess right out of the Lunastra's path.

Dasha shouted out an admonishment in felyne language and shook her head before rushing for the Lunastra with yet another bomb. The princess remained on her back, and stared up dazed at the sky. She perceived out of the corner of her eye, the mass of blue turning around and preparing to take another charge at her. True to the princess' suspicion, the Lunastra made a dash for her. The princess was down to only two bottles of mega potion and the Lunastra no longer had her horn or her tail. Both were down to the last ounces of their health and strength. It was either one went or the other.

Dasha saw her mistress supported on one elbow, her body twisted at the waist as she tried to reach for the hilt of the sword that was flung out of her hand by the force of the explosion. They always said that a hunter must never let go of his or her weapon while in a battle, and the princess saw why the adage was to be abided by at all times. Dasha was too far away to help her mistress reach the sword. The felyne threw her bomb aside and scrambled for the health flute that she kept in the pouch she wore around her waist. As it was when one truly needed something, the thing needed always made sure it could not be found, and her mistress was fast running out of time.

The princess was not expecting her felyne's help then. Her mind was only on the approaching Lunastra and summoning just enough energy to reach out further to get her sword. Her legs were numb from the blast but she managed to turn herself nearly onto her stomach, and to stretch her arm out a little further for the sword.

She could feel Lunastra's fiery breath almost upon her and with a burst of strength she pulled the hilt with her fingers into her waiting palm. Once she had her sword, the princess spun around and slashed in a sweeping motion. The blade caught the Lunastra across the face, blinding both her eyes. Her eyes blood-filled, the Lunastra reeled backwards and roared in pain. But the roar was weak and when the Lunastra stopped reeling, she was standing on shaky feet, which gave way beneath her, causing her to crash to the floor. She struggled, trying to flap wings that could no longer take her to the sky.

Where it should have been a surge of victory, something in the princess tore right then. She forced herself up and, dragging the tip of her sword in the dust behind her, the princess staggered urgently to the Empress' side, clutching her abdomen as she did so. Dasha who was just beginning the first few steps of a victory dance stopped immediately and bounded over to her mistress.

The princess collapsed by the Lunastra's head, appalled suddenly by the blood in the eyes that were once beautiful. The Lunastra had stopped struggling. Her mouth was slightly open and through it her breathing came out in shallow puffs, her chest rising and falling quickly and roughly. Her body, over which the princess threw an arm, was still warm.

How funny it was that in the heat of the battle, nothing but the fight mattered and you numb your heart to everything else. Right then as the princess ran a hand through the rough, blue mane, she felt a camaraderie with the creature.

Dasha looked on at the strange sight: her mistress stroking the Lunastra's mane and muzzle, the Lunastra quietly snorting in response to the contact. It would have been a comfortable scene, if her mistress was not crying and the Lunastra so terribly scarred and wounded.

The princess kept stroking and went on doing so even as the Lunastra's breathing came no more and the body was still. It took Dasha's gentle paw on her stroking hand to make her stop. Even then, the princess continued to stare at the body for a while, before, visibly steeling herself, she removed her helm and stood up.

Both Princess and felyne bowed their heads for a span of a minute, their eyes closed and their hearts saying a prayer for the creature lost.

When the Princess looked up and extracted her carving knife, Dasha saw that there was something different about her mistress, like there was another's presence within her; the presence of something strong, something powerful and something whose existence one couldn't do without in this world of monsters.

Dasha continued watching as her mistress worked her carving knife reverently on the creature, careful not to spill any blood directly from the heart.

* * *

The hunter was glad to reach the top of the tower. He was finally going to get some action after the laborious climb. He crossed the threshold into the arena, fully expecting everything his imagination had conjured: a giant of a Lunastra prowling before an altar, eyeing the prize on it with hunger that never could be satiated, and that prize being a beauty of a young woman, clad in a thin virginal shroud, her breasts almost bared, unconscious from the shock, and lying in the most tantalizing of positions.

Reality usually had a way of hitting you in the face like the snap of a wet towel.

The hunter could not decide whether he had better be puzzled or shocked. No Lunastra met him, at least, no LIVE one. What met him was a mass of blue fur lying in a ghastly red pool. Looming above the mass was a woman, whose back was facing him as he came in from the entrance. From the way she was standing, so straight and sure, she could have been a goddess among women and it was not hard to believe that she was.

Yes, she _was _a goddess among women.

He took a step further into the arena, not knowing what to make of it all. The woman must have heard him because she turned and he saw that she held a carving knife.

He also saw how her hands, like the knife, were completely covered in blood from the carve. On looking up at her face, he perceived that she was beautiful. However, she was unsmiling, her face a mask of indifference. He noticed her eyes and saw that they were of the strangest hue of grey; strange, set as they were against her dark skin. They had in them an eerie luminescence, and against her skin, they were like moons, twin lunars in a sky that always looked on but never cared.

It took a while, but the woman narrowed those eyes at him and grinned, before saying just loud enough for him to hear, "Quest Cleared."

* * *

**-Finis-**


End file.
